


Tumblr Prompts

by leaper182



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M, fem!Dwalin/Ori
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:45:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaper182/pseuds/leaper182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got bored and asked for prompts on Tumblr. After Tumblr ate one of them, I decided to repost them here. Enjoy?</p><p>The original tumblr post is <a href="http://leaper182.tumblr.com/post/81942945948/more-progress-had">here</a>, for the curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dwalin and Ori, Medieval AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theriza prompted: "Hobbit reincarnation AU or Ori saves Dwalin at BoFA?"
> 
> A choice?
> 
> A choice!
> 
> ... both?

If there was one thing that Ori hated about fighting, it was that it was so easy to get turned around and confused. It was easier when he was still a squire, because at least he could pick one of the knights on their side, and just follow wherever he went.

Now that he _was_ a knight, it was quite a bit harder. It didn't help that his mount was raring to go, champing at the bit and almost starting to buck a bit at the chance to wade into battle. Ori would never figure out just why the knight he squired under thought that Daisy would be a good fit for him.

Ori shook his head. He couldn't get distracted, not in the middle of battle. He had to find Dwalin in this fray.

Dwalin's coat of arms was quarterly azure and argent, with passant dragons in the first and fourth quarters or, but Ori also didn't realize just how difficult it was going to be to find him when there were a number of knights on _both sides_ who favored azure and argent. It also didn't help that Dwalin's stallion was dark brown and had a nasty temper, just like _every other knight_ on the field. This was getting ridiculous...

Ori was finally able to locate him when there was a loud roar from not too far away, and Ori turned in time to see a knight (this one very a chevron, thank God) bringing his sword down on Dwalin's shield.

Dwalin wasn't wearing his helm. Knowing him, he'd likely gotten annoyed with it and thrown it at the first opponent he'd encountered. Still, it left his head frighteningly unprotected, but for a man of fifty, Dwalin was taking care of himself rather well, all things considered. His heavy battleaxe flashed in the sunlight before it came down on the other knight's shield with a loud clatter.

Of course, that's when Ori spotted the knight coming up on Dwalin's left flank.

Ori grabbed the reins and gave Daisy her head, waiting until just the right time to give Daisy the signal to rear up on her hind legs. Sure enough, when he got close enough, he whistled sharply and up he went, bracing himself in the stirrups and squeezing with his thighs with all his might.

The advancing knight turned wide blue eyes on Ori before Daisy came down on him, unhorsing him readily and even clipping the other knight's mount near the shoulder with one of her hooves.

The other mount, clearly not used to being anywhere as chaotic as a battlefleld, started to run.

A quick bash to the other knight's helm with the pommel of his sword had the other knight falling back down to the earth.

Ori turned just in time to see Dwalin bring his battleaxe down hard on the vert knight's shoulder, causing the knight to topple out of his saddle and land on the hard earth with a clatter. Dwalin then turned a slightly startled look at him.

Ori grinned at him, ready to tease him that he should be paying attention to the battle, and if he didn't find his helm, Thorin was going to yell at him. And then his smile was slipping, because he was somewhere else, some _time_ else.

He had to be -- the English assaulting their ears wasn't English anymore, but a gruff language that sounded more tormented and lost than English could ever sound.

Dwalin was still bare-headed, his pate shining in the sunlight, but now his mustache and beard were longer, fuller. No azure and argent for him, with passant dragons or, but furs and metal.

Ori shook his head, hard.

He was remembering another time, and by the look on Dwalin's face, he was remembering it too.

Trading a look that they would be speaking of this later, Ori turned and charged back into the battle.


	2. Dwalin/Ori preslash -- Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thejerseydevile prompted: "Modern AU: Ori and Dwalin try to be crafty and Dwalin discovers a hidden talent for DIY-ing"
> 
> In this AU, apparently both Dwalin and Ori are librarians. Because reasons.

"Goodness," Ori stared at the space where a wall used to be. "It feels so much… _bigger_ without it, doesn’t it?”

Dwalin raised a thick eyebrow at him before rolling up his left sleeve. “Well, that’s because there’s no wall anymore.”

Ori shot him an annoyed look. “I _know_ that. It’s just a bit… disconcerting, is all.” He surveyed the chunks of drywall on the floor, the sledge hammer resting against a bare stud, and spied a small step-stool which looked promising. Snagging himself a seat, he looked up at Dwalin curiously. “As much as I don’t mind keeping you company on a Saturday, I thought you would want to be alone so you can concentrate on what you were doing?”

Dwalin shrugged, turning back to the wall to hide his self-consciousness. “Well, you’re always on me to take a break.”

"Yes, when you’re doing three carts of weeding without pause," Ori pointed out. "That’s just _mental_.”

Dwalin snorted. “Remind me why Thorin hired you on again?”

Ori blinked and then tried a slightly nervous smile. “My winning personality?”

Dwalin stared at him for a second, and then started chuckling. “Right. Of course.”

Ori looked pleased with himself before returning his attention to the scene of the crime. “So, what’s all this then?” Before Dwalin could reply, he added quickly, “I mean, obviously, you’ve just knocked down a wall by yourself — which is just as _mental_ — but why knock it down? What’re you going to do next?”

"Move it so that it’s flush with this wall here—" Dwalin took a few steps past where the wall used to be, and turned, holding his arms out at a spot where the wall ended. "Put some studs in place. Put up some drywall. A bit of spackle, and done."

Ori blinked a few times. “And this is what you do on a Saturday?”

"Not _every_ Saturday,” Dwalin grumbled.

"All right, not _every_ Saturday,” Ori conceded. “So, what am I doing here? Fetch and carry? Stand around and look pretty?”

Dwalin found himself thinking that Ori didn’t have to stand around in order to look pretty, but wisely, he kept his mouth shut. “Pretty much, yeah.” He realized what he said, and then hastily added, “Fetch and carry. Not the, um, other bit.”

Ori smiled and snapped his fingers in an ‘aw shucks’ gesture. “Tell me what to fetch, and I shall.”


	3. Boffins -- Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> moonrose91 prompted: "Cute adorable Bilbo baking for the Dwarves fluff (modern or not up to you)"
> 
> I suck at cooking, so forgive me because I fudged like mad. ^^;

"And what," Bofur murmured, sliding his arms carefully around Bilbo’s waist, "is this?"

Bilbo snorted. “If you’re not going to distract me, it’s going to be blackberry crumble.” Despite what he just said, he turned in the circle of Bofur’s arms and looked up at him with a sly smile. “I thought you were going to stay in bed? Learn to be a proper hobbit?”

"I was," Bofur murmured, nudging his forehead gently against Bilbo’s. "Until a certain someone left the bed."

"You can’t expect me to stay in bed _all_ day, can you?” Bilbo murmured, a pleased smile on his lips. “Not if you want any breakfast, whether first or second.”

"Oh, I can think of something much tastier than that stuff," Bofur waved negligently at the stove. "Much more fun too."

Bilbo blushed vividly enough to make Bofur start laughing.


	4. Boffins -- Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dinamitelove prompted: "Party in Laketown before going to Erebor. Bilbo teaches Bofur to dance."
> 
> Another subject that I don't know a lot about, at least in terms of Shire dancing. They wouldn't know courtly dances like you'd seen in Jane Austen adaptations, but they wouldn't be waltzing or tangoing either. Crap.
> 
> Well, let's make the best of it, shall we?

It was strange for there to be someone singing a song and getting the place in an uproar, and it _wasn't_ Bofur in the thick of things.

It didn't take long for Bilbo to find him, chugging the wine instead of sipping it politely like any gentlehobbit would've done, and eating the food as if he hadn't been fed for the past week that they'd been staying at Lake-town, as the Master of Lake-town's personal guests.

Ironically, Bilbo had already had his fill (impressing quite a number of villagers with the amount he could put away in a sitting), and now he found that he actually wanted a dance.

"Bofur, there you are," Bilbo said, announcing his presence as he made his way to Bofur's side. "I want to dance, and seeing as how all the ladies are much too tall for me to dance with comfortably, you're it."

Surprised hazel eyes looked at Bilbo as if Bilbo had just said something in Ancient Hobbitish. "Sorry?"

Bilbo sighed heavily. "I want to dance, and you're the only dwarf I can trust not to step on my feet. Come on."

And so it was that Bilbo dragged Bofur out to the space of floor that their hosts had cleared away for dancing. Bilbo could already see Fili and Kili trying to charm the younger ladies who were closer to their size (though a number of disapproving fathers were eyeing the princes suspiciously), and while most of the dwarves were keeping their dignity about them, Bilbo could spot Nori teaching Ori how to dance a jig nearby.

"Right, something quick but not too fast -- I don't think my legs are quite up for something like that," Bilbo said briskly.

Bofur blinked at him. "You're going to have to teach me, because I have no idea how to do 'quick but not too fast'."

Bilbo blinked back at him. "You're joking."

Bofur shook his head.

"What about when you were singing the Man and the Moon at Rivendell?" Bilbo asked. "That looked a bit like dancing then."

"Oh, I can dance," Bofur said with a quick grin. "It's the 'quick' part that I'll have trouble with." He held up a furry boot to illustrate his point.

"Oh. _Oh._ " Bilbo said. With a slighlty embarrassed chuckle, he added, "I see what you mean. Well, let's see what we can do, shall we?"


	5. Boffins -- Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happiness-in-a-hat prompted: "Eep, almost missed this~ Guess what ship I'm going to prompt! =D And... Fishing! Or picnic. (or pirates lol I'm a problem)"
> 
> I can make fishing + picnic, but them being pirates might be difficult. Unless....

"Forgive me if I'm still new to this pirating business," Bilbo sniffed, gingerly shifting where he sat in the small, two-man dinghy and tugging idly at his fishing rod. "I just don't fancy walking into town and demanding to be served food when I can just as easily get it right here from the ocean."

Bofur shook his head sadly. "We're _pirates_ \-- I'll not convince you that this is a daft idea, will I?"

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "Not at all."

Bofur sighed, and then turned to look at the metal box near Bilbo's feet. "What's in that?"

"A few odds and ends," Bilbo said, his eyes still on the water. "Some lures, a can of worms just in case the fish are wise to bits of metal, some food, the sort of thing you'd bring along when you go fishing."

"Food?" Bofur perked up visibly. "What sort of food?"

Blue eyes slid over to eye him mischievously. "Oh? I thought you said that fishing was dull, and that you would've rather have spent your early morning in some whore's bed?"

Bofur groaned loudly. "Ye can't blame me for that! Pirates go whoring! It's something else that they do besides robbing vessels and taking noblemen captive for ransom!"

Bilbo glared at the water. "Well, if a certain pirate on the high seas wants to have a hammock that isn't empty at night, whoring is one thing he had better stop doing."

Bofur sighed again, this time sounding exhausted. He carefully sidled his way over to sit next to Bilbo, his right thigh pressed up against Bilbo's left, and leaned over to murmur in his ear. "You're the only one I want, Mister Bilbo Baggins. Yesterday, now, and forever."

Bilbo lifted his gaze to meet Bofur's. "That sounds like a heavy promise, coming from a pirate."

Bofur pulled back just enough to look Bilbo in the eye without going cross-eyed. "I'll swear on my gold. I'll swear on my blood. I'll swear on anything you'll have me swear by..."

Bilbo watched him steadily.

"Just..." Bofur murmured. "Say you'll be mine?"

Bilbo hummed, serious with just a hint of a smile. "I've never been someone else's before," he murmured back. "Especially not a pirate's."

"It's easy," Bofur smiled, leaning in as slowly as he could. "I'll protect you, and swear m'self to you to the end of my days."

One of Bilbo's hands reached up to stroke the end of Bofur's mustache. "That sounds lovely."

"So, you will?" Bofur couldn't help the hopeful note in his voice.

"I will," Bilbo purred back. "I will... let you have the food I brought with me."


	6. Bagginshield - Post-BOFA AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mynuet prompt: "If there’s one thing the world needs more of…" with either Bagginshield or dwarfly gen.
> 
> Happy birthday, Mynuet. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The post that this prompt was chosen from is located [here](http://leaper182.tumblr.com/post/89019767926/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill-write) if anyone wants to toss their name in the hat.

With the business of the day already finished, Thorin found himself more than ready to find his consort and enjoy a long, restful night in bed.

What he hadn't anticipated, upon entering their suite, was to find Bilbo sitting at his desk, merrily scribbling away at a tome. The candle next to him had burned down to half its original length, but Bilbo's smile wasn't the least bit tired, despite having been in his study for hours.

"What's this?" Thorin murmured, standing behind the hobbit and peering at whatever Bilbo was working on.

"Oh, just a bit of writing," Bilbo said breezily, turning his head enough to raise an eyebrow at Thorin. "Did you just finish your meeting with the guildmasters?"

Thorin nodded, brushing a kiss against Bilbo's forehead. "When the histories talk about the reigns of kings, they never mention how tedious it is."

Bilbo nodded. "Well, better for your life to be filled with tedium than uncertainty?"

Thorin hummed. "Indeed." He eyed the book again. "Is there any chance I might persuade you to set the book down and come to bed?"

"I'm mid-sentence, and I'm almost finished with this chapter," Bilbo said, gentling the protest with a smile. "I shall join you shortly."

"You've started on _another_ book?" Thorin asked, a dwarven braid or two away from incredulous.

"Of _course_ , I've started another one, Thorin," Bilbo said, fondly exasperated. "You can't expect me to write a history about the Shire, and not follow it up with a companion volume about the Men of Rohan, do you?"

Thorin spent a great deal of effort trying to check a sigh. "You've already spent enough time as it is in here with little enough light to see by. It's been a long day. The book will keep until tomorrow." When he'd tried to picture the future between them, Thorin had thought that Bilbo would be the one to drag him away from the business of kingship in order to rest. It was somewhat disconcerting to discover how wrong his prediction had been. "You don't need to write a book about the Men of Rohan. I'm sure that someone else has written one."

"If there’s one thing the world needs more of, Thorin, it's books," Bilbo said firmly. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten those sources I'd found in the library about the War of Wrath."

Thorin didn't glare, but it was a very near thing. "Out of all the things that insufferable wyrm could have destroyed while he was here, he left the books written by Elves alone."

"Bite your tongue!" Bilbo gasped. "Burning books should be a capital offense. Do you know how much time and energy goes into writing one? And then there's all the information and research that's lost when a book is completely destroyed, and it was the only copy in existence." Bilbo genuinely shuddered at the idea.

"Peace, my hobbit," Thorin murmured, holding up his hands as thought to ward off hobbit-ish wrath. "I've seen the error of my ways. If you wish to take me to task, please come to bed so that I may learn just how wrong I was."

Bilbo shot him a look that said just how transparent he was at the moment. "Don't tempt me, Thorin Oakenshield." Thorin was pleased to note, however, that Bilbo set his quill aside and blew out the candle before getting up from his chair. "I may just give you an earful, at that." When he got up from his chair, he braced the small of his back and stretched before favoring Thorin with a fond smile.

Thorin couldn't help but return the smile, as well as add a small kiss to the tip of Bilbo's nose. "I look forward to the lecture."


	7. Boffins -- Pre-BOFA Hostage AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kazzythegreat prompted: Bofur/Bilbo; "It’s never too late." (I have a feeling this is either going to make me cry or make happy squeaking noises. Or both.)
> 
> I'm debating whether or not to have something like this in Indelible-verse, but I won't know until I get to that part of the narrative. Still, enjoy!
> 
> Also, sorry for the abrupt ending. I just sort of ran out of steam or something. Bah!

Bilbo watched, his heart in his throat, as Smaug winged his way southward. Bad enough that Smaug was going to lay waste to a town filled with men, women, and children because he couldn't keep his cleverness to himself, but not all of the Company had come with them on the boats--

His mind went blank in a moment of terror. Kili had been left behind on Thorin's orders, and Fili had stayed behind to be with his brother. Oin had stayed because Kili was his patient.

Bofur had stayed behind because he'd missed the boat. Thorin had implied as such when Bilbo had demanded to know where he was when they were about to set sail.

Bofur was in Laketown, and there was no way to get to him.

In that moment of realization, Bilbo realized that he hadn't had all the time in the world to _say_ anything, as much as he'd told himself throughout the journey that he wasn't being rational, that he'd been swept up in the romanticism of going on an epic quest like he'd read about so often in his mother's books.

Because the moment had come when it was too late to say anything, and Bilbo wanted more than anything to turn back time, to say it sooner, even if it meant that Bofur had patted him on the back and laughed it off.

It was days later when there were armies on the doorstep, and Bilbo faced the very real danger of being thrown down the side of a _mountain_ because he'd tried to use the Arkenstone as a bargaining chip to win their companions' freedom from being the hostages of Men and Thranduil.

When he fled the mountain, and made his way to where the Men and Elves were camped, Bilbo nearly sobbed with relief when he was allowed to see the hostages.

The dwarves were outraged at being held captive, but each of them seemed to brighten Bilbo entered their separate tents. (Bilbo had been a bit confused as to why they'd been separated, until he'd overheard some Elves muttering to themselves that the 'little bastards had tried escaping once already, but this little hobbit doesn't look like he'll be much use there'. After that, he just seethed.)

The ringleader had been separated, and Bilbo had been surprised to see Bofur sitting on the ground, with three Elven guards standing around him, aiming arrows at him at all times. When he tried to stand up, the Elves tensed where they stood.

It took some convincing, but soon, Bilbo and Bofur were standing near each other, with the Elves surrounding the outside of the tent, and standing at the entrance, presumably to give them some privacy.

"Bilbo, what're you doing here?" Bofur demanded in a hushed tone.

"What'm _I_ doing here?" Bilbo demanded back. "What happened? Why are you all prisoners of the Men and Elves?"

"When the dragon came by to torch Laketown, he said something about how one of them tried to steal something of his," Bofur said, his seemingly casual shrug at odds with the grave look on his face. "I figured that it might've been you, since you were supposed to be our burglar and all. The Men think that Thorin's responsible for waking up the dragon, so as soon as Smaug was killed, we got rounded up, and they took us with them in order to negotiate for the treasure."

Bilbo shook his head in disgust. "That's despicable. You weren't to blame."

Bofur snorted. "Aye, but try telling _them_ that." He eyed the tent entrance before looking at Bilbo curiously. "How'd you get them to leave us alone? I thought that as soon as they'd caught me trying to get away, they wouldn't let me out of their sights."

At this, Bilbo hesitated.

Bofur blinked at him. "Are ye blushing?"

"No, of course not," Bilbo blurted out. "It's just... warm. In here."

At that moment, a wind blew outside of the tent, howling through the camp.

"Warm," Bofur said slowly. "Aye."

Bilbo cleared his throat, and tried to reclaim some of his dignity. "Well, they've left us alone for a bit. That's the important part."

Bofur nodded. "Aye. Do you have a plan for getting us out of here? Only, it's not going to work too well if we don't have Oin and the boys with us, too."

Bilbo sighed. "Unfortunately no, but I needed to see you." He realized how that sounded a moment later, and hastened to add, "To make sure you were all right."

Bofur nodded. "I'm all right. A little worse for wear after I tried to get away the once, but I've been all right. It seems the Elvish King will feed prisoners when he's got Men watching him."

Bilbo sighed. "Well, that's something at least." He looked at Bofur for a long moment, and added, "I saw Smaug flying towards Laketown."

Bofur let out a weak laugh. "Oh, aye, I saw him flying overhead. If it weren't for the fact that he was going to roast us all, I would've just watched. As it was, I had a time helping Oin to make sure that Fili and Kili were all right."

Bilbo couldn't help biting his lip. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Bofur frowned. "For the dragon? That's not your fault. It's not like we _wanted_ him to wake up and kill as many Men as he wanted." When Bilbo flinched, he added, "It really wasn't your fault."

"I'm the one who told him that one of my names was Barrel-Rider," Bilbo mumbled. "I was so busy being clever that it just slipped out, and now there's a whole town filled with people who've been killed."

"Hey."

Bilbo stared intently at the front of Bofur's borrowed armor.

"Hey." Gentle fingers chucked him under the chin. "Bilbo Baggins. Look at me, will ye?"

Bilbo reluctantly dragged his gaze up to meet Bofur's.

"It hurts to know that someone died because of a decision you made," Bofur murmured, his usual levity absent. "And it can hurt for a long time. But there are times when there's no right choice to make, and you have to tell yourself that you did the best you could, and live with the rest of it."

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Bofur shook his head.

"The one thing that kept me going through the attack, and being dragged over here, was that I knew I'd be seeing you again."

Bilbo frowned. "How could you know that?"

"You're too smart to let yourself get roasted by a furnace with wings," Bofur said with a cheeky grin. "At least, not before I could say my piece."

"What piece is that?" Bilbo blinked.

"Just that I care about you deeply, and if we manage to survive this whole mess, I want to spend the rest of my life with you," Bofur said it easily enough, but as soon as it was all out, he looked nervous. "That is-- I remember having gone through the Shire a time or two, and I'm guessing it might not be the done thing there--"

Bilbo stopped his babbling with a firm kiss to his lips.

When he pulled back a few moments later, Bofur blinked at him.

"What was that?" he asked curiously.

Bilbo blinked back at him. "What do you mean, what was that? I know it's been a while since I've kissed someone, but I didn't think I was _that_ bad at it," he said, his defensiveness rising.

"That was kissing?" Bofur asked, looking pleasantly surprised. "Oh! I thought it was something else!" With that, he swooped in, pressing his lips firmly against Bilbo's, taking immense enjoyment in it, even if he had absolutely _no_ idea how it was supposed to be done.

Bilbo was able to tilt his head just a bit and deepen the kiss, surprising a muffled noise out of Bofur, before the tent flap opened, and an Elf barged in.


	8. Dwalin/Ori -- Sketches of the Soul AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> brennabunni prompted: "21, Dwalin/Ori?" from [this meme](http://leaper182.tumblr.com/post/89597342026/hurt-comfort-fic-meme)
> 
> Which translates to "PMS, Dwalin/Ori?"
> 
> Okay, I'll admit it. As soon as I saw what number that was, I laughed out loud.
> 
> Bit of an AU for this one, but you'll see in a second?
> 
> Also, kinda-sorta wandered away from the prompt a little, but yay, hurt/comfort?

Ori first noticed it during court. He wasn't sure _how_ he noticed it, of course, just that he could tell that there was something wrong amidst all of the royal proclamations and decisions made on disputes in the newly-reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor. Maybe it was just because the one time that he'd happened to glance up, he could see Dwalin, her armor shining like something out of an epic tale, wincing and shifting her feet every once in a while.

When they spoke during the brief recess for the midday meal, Dwalin had said she was fine, nothing was wrong, but Ori could tell that there was something she wasn't telling him.

It was a relief when court was finished for the day, because not only had Ori noticed something was amiss, Thorin seemed to give her a sympathetic look, and told her in hushed tones that nobody else would hear that she should try to rest, if she could.

When Dwalin approached his table, she was a bit startled to find that Ori had already organized his notes, and was already sliding out of his chair. "Finished already?" she asked.

Ori nodded. "Yeah. I started it after the Stiffbeard jeweler and the Man dispute was resolved so that you wouldn't be left waiting so long."

Dwalin frowned. "You know I don't mind waiting for you, right?"

Ori checked a sigh. "You don't need to keep apologizing, Dwalin. I know what you were trying to do when I was younger."

Dwalin stiffened, her face carefully blank as she looked at him.

For a moment, Ori wasn't sure what he'd said to set her off, but then he remembered that they weren't exactly alone. "No one's paying attention to us," he murmured gently.

"We're the royal guard and her scribe," Dwalin muttered. "We're going to be the talk of the city until other dwarves get used to us."

Ori stopped himself before he mentioned that he was used to having been talked about from their days in exile, but one look at her face made him stop before he started. "Would you like to get some dinner?" he asked evenly.

To his surprise, Dwalin blushed, glancing away. "Not feeling hungry."

Coming from a dwarrowdam who could easily match Bombur bite for bite when they were in Laketown, Ori wasn't sure if he should start worrying.

"Come on," Dwalin kept muttering, reaching out for his arm. At the last moment, she stopped, and awkwardly dropped her hand. Ori saw her clench her hand for a moment before she jerked her head toward the closest exit.

Ori was tempted to take her hand in his, but that forbidding look on her face stopped him. So, he followed where she led.

After a few minutes of meandering down halls that were still showing signs of repair, they were back at their apartment, with Dwalin fumbling at the key around her neck, trying to open the door.

"Allow me?" Ori offered gently, taking the key from her and smoothly opening the door.

Dwalin shot him a glance before half-crowding, half-ushering him inside. The lock was thrown with a quick sort of agitation, but Ori didn't have much time to think about it before he was pressed against a wall, with Dwalin looking down at him with a look of frustration. She ducked her head towards him before stopping herself at the last moment.

"Dwalin?" Ori said gently, reaching up with both hands, pressing one against her breastplate while running the fingers of his other hand stroke through her soft beard. "Are you all right?"

Dwalin's lips parted for a moment before she frowned. With a quick shake of her head, she started to step back, but Ori changed his grip, the hand in her beard sliding around to the back of her neck, the hand on her breastplate sliding to her shoulder.

"Dwalin, something's been bothering you," Ori murmured. He knew that they were alone -- the apartment had been Thorin's gift to the couple, even if the fact that they hadn't been married gave Dori the fits to think about -- but he felt like he needed to keep his voice down. "If there's something I can do to help, I want to."

Dwalin frowned again, but she looked... worried. "It's nothing."

Ori snorted, giving her an unimpressed look. "Hmm, yes. It's nothing that's making you wince during court, and not talking to me during the midday break."

Dwalin blinked, looking worried. "I wasn't short with you, was I?"

Ori blinked back. "No? No more than usual? Why...?"

With an annoyed grunt, Dwalin broke out of Ori's grip and walked further inside to the main living area, her hands jerking at her gauntlets and throwing them down in visible disgust before they started jerking at the straps on her shoulders that kept the breastplate in place.

Ori trailed after her like a lost duckling. "Dwalin--"

Dwalin shook her head. "Some dwarrowdam I am," she muttered to herself. "Finally have a soulmate after being broken for so many years, and I can't even--"

Ori watched as she yanked at the straps, and then she exploded into curses when something tightened instead of loosened. When her face turned red, and she started patting around for the knife she kept at her belt, Ori grabbed her hands and forced her to turn around. "Dwalin. Stop."

Dwalin glared at him for a long moment before her expression fell. "I... Sorry."

Ori sighed through his nose as gently as he could before guiding her to the armchair she favored. "What did I say about apologizing?" he asked gently. When she sat down on the edge of the chair, he turned his attention to the straps on her shoulders. "You've had a hard day of it, from what I can tell. You haven't hurt me, and I'm not mad about anything."

From this close, he could see Dwalin's jaw clench. "I keep trying to force--"

Ori leaned in close, his lips near her battered ear. "Don't finish that sentence."

"Why?" she asked sourly, staring into the unlit fireplace. "Because it's true?"

Ori stopped his investigation of her shoulder strap to gently turn her face to his. "You have never forced me to do anything. I see each time that you want to reach out and touch me, and I can see how much it hurts you to stop yourself."

"I remember Mirkwood," Dwalin growled, a dark, angry tone directed at herself.

"I remember being blind and scared, all over again," Ori admitted. "I remember not knowing you because you wouldn't talk to me and tell me why you did the things you did. That's why I didn't want you to touch me. My soulmate being a handsome dwarrowdam who _wants_ to touch me is a dream come true. A total stranger isn't."

Dwalin stared in silence for a long moment, allowing Ori to work on the shoulder straps in quiet, if not necessarily peace. He managed to work the first one free, and when he got to the other shoulder, Dwalin finally broke the silence.

"I-- It's the Yearning," she said awkwardly, her cheeks reddening above her beard. "I've been feeling it since this morning, but I haven't--"

Ori stared at her, feeling as though he'd been hit in the head by her warhammer. Out of all of the possible responses he'd been expecting, her admitting to that wasn't one of them. "Oh," he said weakly. "Um. Is there... err, anything I can do to... help?" He tried to think of what Dori had taught him about dwarrowdams and how babies were born, but his brain went blank.

Dwalin turned her head slowly, and gave him such a heated look that Ori wanted to tug at the collar of his cardigan. "We're not married," she said, her voice even.

Ori blinked. "We've been sharing the same bed since Thorin gave us this apartment," he said, feeling a bit confused. "All right, we haven't actually _done_ \--" The thought of Dwalin being unclothed, the mental image of him between her legs, made Ori shut himself up before he could say anything stupid.

Dwalin scowled. "It's not the same." She turned back to the dark fireplace. "We haven't been married because neither of us has actually proposed."

Ori watched her for a long moment before he cleared his throat, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'm... I'd been waiting until we'd gotten a better count of our shares," he mumbled.

Dwalin turned to look at him, her confused frown demanding an explanation.

Ori shrugged, feeling his cheeks getting warm. "I can't just ask for the hand of the daughter of Fundin without knowing exactly what I'd be offering as a spouse price, can I?"

Dwalin blinked at him.

Ori felt his ears getting warm, and quickly turned his attention back to the shoulder strap left to loosen. "I didn't mean to-- you're my soulmate," he mumbled. "I never thought that I'd get married when I was little, but that was because we were so poor that I wouldn't have been able to offer her family anything. Now that we're heroes, and we've got it on the books that we're guaranteed a fourteenth of the total treasure hoard..."

The excuses felt stupid. Ori had had a chance to propose to Dwalin all these weeks, and he hadn't done it because of his own pride. "That doesn't excuse anything. You're... you're the handsomest dwarrowdam I've ever laid eyes on, and it was stupid of me to want to wait until I could show Master Balin all of the gold I had to offer."

Dwalin didn't respond, but kept staring at the unlit fire.

Ori's fingers kept patiently working at the leather strap. "It's all silly anyway, because I could have all the gold in Erebor, and I still don't think it'd be a tenth of how much you mean to me."

Dwalin stiffened where she sat. When she looked up at him, Ori was surprised to see her eyes glistening.

"I'm sorry too," she mumbled in return. "I just..." She shook her head quickly and turned to face forward again. "I keep seeing the dwarrowdams in the delegations that Thorin's been receiving from the Iron Hills. In their finery. Their braids and beards."

Ori stopped tugging at the strap to lay a small kiss against the tattoos on Dwalin's head. "You're more beautiful than any of them."

Dwalin raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Ori shrugged. "Do you know the first thing I noticed about you?"

Dwalin frowned, shaking her head.

"The way you moved your hips. I couldn't think straight for a few moments."

Dwalin's frown turned confused before Ori saw the moment of realization on her face. "Ori, I said I was--"

Ori laid a finger against her lips. "No. No apologies. We're here now, and I've had fantasies about those hips to keep me company for years." He grinned at her stunned look, and he carefully moved forward, replacing his finger with his lips.

They hadn't done much in the way of kissing -- just a few pecks on the cheek, though Ori had noticed the number of times when it looked like she was going to kiss him before she stopped herself. This time, he didn't stop himself.

It was softer, gentler than he was expecting. Their lips were pressed together, and then Dwalin turned her head to the side just a little, and oh, wow, all right, that was a lot better. Tongues were involved now, and it was wet, and slippery, and Ori almost needed to sit down just from the intensity. After much too short a time kissing, Dwalin pulled back, aiming a heated look at his lips before taking a long, slow breath to calm herself down.

"I... see," she murmured, the words tumbling out in a graceless heap. She turned herself forward. "Did you get the strap undone?"

Ori cleared his throat, and redoubled his efforts. After a minute, the second strap was loosened, and Dwalin was shrugging out of her breastplate with more care than she usually took. "Dwalin? Are you all right?"

Dwalin looked unsure for a moment before she set the breastplate down on the floor near the fireplace. "It... well. What do you know about the Yearning?"

Ori tried not to think about how hard he was blushing. "Dwarrowdams get it at certain times, and it's before the bleeding. Um, my brothers warned me to not aggravate any dwarrowdam with the Yearning, because she might want to take my head off if I made her mad?"

Dwalin snorted as she wrestled out of her boots. "Good advice, that."

Ori nodded in agreement, torn between a desire to watch her undress, the metal and leather being peeled away to reveal tempting skin and calluses underneath, and the manners that Dori had drilled into him when he was younger. "Since I didn't have a dwarrowdam to ask about the Yearning, can you tell me about it?"

Dwalin looked startled for a moment before shrugging carelessly. "It's the Yearning. Most times, I just want to throw you down on a bed and ride your hammer until you pass out."

Ori blinked.

Dwalin shrugged, paying more attention to removing her greaves than looking at her soulmate. "Dwarrowdams I've met like to joke that the Yearning's Mahal's way of testing our ingenuity. We want sex, but at the same time, there's parts of us that are too tender to take much handling."

"Oh?" Ori asked weakly. "Like what?"

Dwalin shrugged again. "My breasts, for one. This armor's murder on them during the Yearning, and my nipples are even worse. Bad enough they're sensitive to begin with. It's like I can't even eye them during this time before they start hurting."

Ori winced sympathetically. "Is there... um, anything else that's tender?"

Dwalin snorted. "Not unless you count wanting enough pleasure to sack out in bed for a week." She started on her vambraces before she glanced up at Ori, who was staring at her. "What?"

"I..." Ori felt himself blushing _again_ , but he had given up maintaining any sort of dignity during this conversation. "Um. Well. I..." He shook his head and admitted. "I'm not being coherent."

Dwalin snorted, looking amused. "Aye."

Ori cleared his throat. "If you want to ride my hammer, I'm at your disposal?"

Dwalin blinked at him, and then burst out laughing.


	9. Week of Orwal - Day 2: Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles Tolliver's life is far from easy.
> 
> Boxing AU: where Dwalin and Ori are boxers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I don't know anything about boxing! What little I know, I got from Mike Tyson's Punch-Out (the original game from the '80s), and whatever osmosis has happened over the years in fandom. As a result, this is going to have a lot of errors, and I hope that you'll be able to forgive me for that.
> 
> Second, I'm writing this for the Week of Orwal. I'll be posting those prompts as I answer them.
> 
> Third, I haven't updated this in a while, and I have at least two or three different fic meme responses to add here. Not sure when I'll get around to it, but I will certainly try my best. Thank you!

"There's no way that kid's a heavyweight," Frank declared flatly as he watched the Hansen-Tolliver fight on the battered TV he had set up in the training room.

Hansen was six feet even, built like a brick shithouse, and had had his face punched so many times his nose reminded Frank of mashed potatoes.

Tolliver was barely five-five, and looked like he weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.

"He's weighed at two-twenty solid each time," Harry grunted next to him, a hairband between his teeth as he gathered together the ridiculous fall of curly, dark brown hair in one meaty hand. "They're calling him 'the Megaton Punch'."

Frank rolled his eyes hard enough he almost got a headache. "The guys he's been up against just take falls, and they're pissed that the money's worth more than the embarrassment."

"Be that as it may," a new voice cut in from behind them, "you should take him more seriously. Especially you, brother."

Frank and Harry shared an amused glance before turning from the battered TV to look down at Thomas, who probably reached Frank's collarbone on a good day.

"Oh?" Frank drawled with a grin. "And why's that?"

Thomas rolled his eyes before tapping Frank's barrel chest with the notepad he held in one hand. "Because this coming Saturday, he's your next bout."

***

Miles heard the door to the gym creak open, but kept his attention on the speedbag he was pummeling. He kept trying to imagine one specific face that he'd love for his fists to be flying into, but there were too many to count.

"Easy," said George, who must've been the one to just come in, just like always, and rested his hands on Miles' shoulders. "Remember what Dad said. Pace yourself."

Miles shook his head angrily, pummeling the speedbag harder, faster. "I have two hundred left--"

Two hands snapped out from behind the bag, and it was a sign of how focused Miles had been that he hadn't seen his other brother until just then.

Miles jerked back when the speedbag came to a sudden stop, and Ryan glared at him from underneath of it.

Miles glared back. "Would you mind moving your hand? If you've been here long enough to see me working, then--"

"No, as a matter of fact," Ryan said, his breezy tone at odds with the hardness in his hazel eyes. "I won't."

"If there was anybody I expect to side with George--"

"Spare me." Ryan snorted. "He's right."

Having to deal with George would've been bad enough -- Miles was almost twenty-five, and he was still being treated like a baby -- but having Ryan join in was adding insult to injury. Finally, all of the pent-up anger that had been boiling inside of him for the past three days spilled out.

"You two don't get it!" he shouted. "Nobody takes me seriously! You heard that press conference with McGarrity--"

Ryan waved a hand dismissively. "Standard trash talk."

"It came from his _manager_ ," Miles growled.

George patted his shoulder gently, which made Miles want to turn around and wallop him one. "He's not the first manage to call for a weigh-in, and he'll not be the last. You'll weigh-in just like you did before. It'll be fine."

Miles gritted his teeth, because Mum had taught all three of them not to hit each other. "I still think that having heavy bones isn't fair."

"You know what's not fair?" Ryan asked, his usual smirk dropping.

"Getting your arms broken by mob enforcers because you wanted a bigger cut of the dive money, and Capelli wasn't going to pay," Miles finished for him with a tired grumble.

Ryan arched an eyebrow at him in a look that clearly said, 'Don't sass me, because I do it better than you.'

"Ryan-- George--" Miles looked back and forth between his two older brothers as he kept going, his words tumbling over themselves before he could be interrupted. "I'm sorry, but I can't spend the rest of my life in a ring!"

George and Ryan traded a look, and Miles stared back at them before he sighed heavily, his shoulders sinking under the weight of defeat.

"I know, I know," he mumbled. "Mum's medical bills won't pay themselves, and George doesn't make enough at the restaurant to pay them and make sure we eat. I _know_. I just..." The fight gone out of him, Miles sagged where he stood and closed his eyes.

Miles could almost feel the moment that his brothers traded another look between them before returning their attention to him. He still didn't want to look, though. Sometimes, it was just easier to keep his eyes closed while things about him were decided without his input.

"So..." George began slowly. "What do you want to do?"

Miles sighed heavily, eyes still closed. "I don't know. I'm just sick of being doubted and accused of cheating every time I turn around. I just want to win so we don't have to worry about Mum's medical bills anymore, and so I can get out of this bloody ring."

George's arm -- he could tell from the breadth of it -- gingerly wrapped around his shoulders, warm and comforting like it had been when Miles was younger. "...Ryan?"

Miles knew that tone of voice. It was one he'd gotten used to hearing ever since he took over as the prize-fighter for the family. And it was one that he'd slowly learned to hate hearing, because George sounded like he hated asking Ryan too.

Miles could see Ryan pursing his lips in his mind's eye -- he'd seen that considering, calculating look on his brother's face too many times not to know what it looked like. "The way Miles is going, we've got a couple fights before we hit the big prize money. Taking down Wallace should really get him some attention."

"How is Wallace any different from Hansen last week?" George demanded, instantly suspicious.

"Because, brother dear," Ryan said with a smirk in his voice, "Hansen's been known to take a dive for the right price."

Miles's eyes popped open in outrage. Glaring at Ryan, he demanded, "Are you telling me that I've been fighting fixed matches?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Actually, no. Your fights have been legit because having a real boy wonder take down guys like Hansen is more impressive than backroom deals."

George swelled up like an offended pigeon. "One thing that Ryan _isn't_ saying is that you're going to fight a clean game, all the way to the end."

Miles couldn't help glancing at Ryan's arms, where his encounter with mob enforcers had left him with visible scars.

Ryan snorted. "Capelli got to me because we were in his home turf. We're not going to be anywhere near him, and you can bet that with George here on hand as protection, we'll be just fine."

"Don't refer to me as some kind of hired muscle," George muttered, frowning at Miles's shirt and picking at a loose thread on the shoulder seam. "I'm here for moral support."

"And because you have a mean right hook," Ryan said with a grin. He turned back to Miles, and shrugged. "Look, kid, saying a boxer's crooked is like saying the Hudson's wet. You're the only fighter I know of in our circuit who isn't, and it's because you literally _can't_ take a dive."

Miles scowled at him. "What about Wallace? Is he crooked?"

Ryan smirked. "He's not in our circuit. With beating Hansen, you moved up to the big times."

***

The weigh-in happened like it had every single time before, with the officials checking over his gear for weights, mayonnaise, rolls of quarters, anything.

And just like every other time before, Miles Tolliver weighed in at two-twenty solid.

***

Frank Wallace's eyes were blue.

No, not just blue. Blue like the ice on Lake Michigan in wintertime back home in Chicago. Blue like the sky on a sunny day with nary a cloud in the sky. Blue like the candles on his twenty-first birthday cake. Blue like kisses, happiness... love.

Miles knew this man, down to the depths of his being, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him.

The thought flashed into his mind two seconds before Wallace's right cross got him on the left cheekbone.

As Miles backpedaled quickly, the rest of the world rushed back into focus: the animal roar of the crowd; the too-bright lights shining on the ring; the sharp smell of sweat from the crowd, from his opponent, from him.

Wallace's lips tugged into half a grin that scented victory was a few punches away.

Miles let out a roar of his own, and swung with a right jab that had gotten him called 'the Megaton Punch' by the press.


End file.
